


Tea and Corsets

by Johaerys (jo_writes), oftachancer



Series: Trisaran: An Anthology of OC Mythology (and prompted fiction) [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Original Work
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Crossdressing, Kinktober, Kinktober 2020, M/M, Modern AU, Modern Thedas, Original Characters - Freeform, Ravishment kink, Rimming, Roleplay, Spanking, Varric Tethras romance novels, Victorian Insults, corsets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:00:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27285319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jo_writes/pseuds/Johaerys, https://archiveofourown.org/users/oftachancer/pseuds/oftachancer
Summary: Tea for two and two for tea. What happens when two kinky boys read too many Tethras romance novels?Some gratuitous smut in time for Kinktober 2020.
Relationships: Aran/Tristan, Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Series: Trisaran: An Anthology of OC Mythology (and prompted fiction) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1992214
Comments: 7
Kudos: 8





	Tea and Corsets

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I hope you enjoy this little smutty one-shot, brought to you by Varric Tethras' novels and the boys' love for roleplaying... huehue ;) 
> 
> Aran belongs to oftachancer, and Tristan to Johaerys!

Motes of dust caught the light through the window. Fragrant embrium blossoms and rose buds puffed their sweetness into the air from the small lacquer vase on the table. 

“You’ve done this before.”

“No,” Tristan chuckled. “I haven’t.”

“Sure.” Aran’s lips quirked as he rested his chin on his fists, watching Tristan pour the tea. Ah, but he was an elegant sod, all pale high cheekbones and long soft white hair collected into a low tail at the nape of his neck above the collar of his suit. The muscles in his wrist as he poured… “You know- I think, technically, I should be the one pouring.”

“The servants have been given the day off. I’m still your host.” He darted a dark look from the cups, “Needs must.”

So that was it, then. The game was on. Aran pressed his lips together, sitting back in his chair and folding his hands demurely beside the plate. He searched his memory and lifted his chin. “Of course, my lord. I didn’t mean to insult your competency.”

“Yes, you did.”

“I certainly didn’t.”

“And now you’re arguing with me.” Tristan set the pot down and stalked around behind him. The vest fit him tight around the middle, smooth dark wool… Aran itched to touch it. To stroke the satin back panel and feel his muscles tensing through it. To get his hands up under the long coat or wrap them in that tie… He shivered as Tristan’s hand fell to his shoulder and squeezed. “When you’re my wife, you’ll learn to hold your tongue.”

“I’m not your wife yet,” he plucked Tristan’s hand off and straightened his back. “My chaperone’s been gone for some time, hasn’t she? Perhaps we should go look for her.”

“She’s here, somewhere.”

“She’s supposed to be with me.” 

Aran caught his breath as Tristan’s knuckles grazed his throat. “Is that what you want, my lady?” 

“Tris,” he breathed.

“Who is that?” 

He sighed as Tristan turned his cheek, lifting his chin to peer down into his eyes. His eyes…. Dark and sharp and full of storm clouds. “Wh- what?”

“Tris. You said this name before. Who is that?”

“Uh…” Aran dampened his lips. “ _ This _ . I said ‘this’. This… is inappropriate. Let us simply have our tea, my lord, and wait for my chaperone to return…” 

“Honestly, she’s not much of a chaperone, is she?” Aran looked over the table and the steaming cups, holding his breath as Tristan traced the line of his neck. “It’s almost as though she’s left you alone on purpose.”

“Why would she do that, my lord?”

“Perhaps you asked her to, my lady.”

“Why would  _ I _ do that?” Aran smiled fleetingly. “No, my lord. She’s easily distracted. That is all. Perhaps if we rang the bell…”

“‘Distracted’ is a poor trait in one meant to protect your various virtues.” He tucked his fingers beneath the sleeve of the blue satin gown.

Aran shook his head quickly. “Then we shall have to guard those virtues ourselves. I will not bend meekly to your will, sir, whatever you might expect of me once this… arrangement is completed.”

“My lord,” Tristan corrected him amiably, smirking. “Lord Fauntleroy. A ridiculous name, and yet… it is mine. As are you.”

“Your rank does not excuse your poor behavior, Lord Fauntleroy.” 

Tristan leaned close to his ear, “Perhaps it does not, my lady. And yet, it makes it far less likely that I’ll be held to account for that poor behavior.”

He swallowed past the sudden dryness in his throat. “You are wicked, my lord.”

“Yes,” he purred. “And you like wicked things.”

Maker, he did. He was aching. The effort of not turning into those hands and availing himself of the body hidden beneath the fine suit was making him dizzy. “I do not.”

“You’ll learn to.”

“You have great expectations of married life, my lord,” he whispered. “I expect you will find yourself sorely disappointed.” 

“Will I?” 

He gasped as Tristan took a handful of his hair and pulled his head back, arching his neck almost painfully, his lips skimming his cheek. “You are a rake.”

“Then I’ll hardly be disappointed, will I?” He grinned, eyes alight. “After all, if my expectations are not met in the marital bed, I can always seek them elsewhere. That’s what rakes do, isn’t it?” 

“Maker save me.”

“But it is the Maker who made us both, and brought us here.” He traced Aran’s lips with his thumb, “Have you been kissed, my lady?”

“My other suitors have behaved themselves appropriately. Something you seem incapable of-“

“That’s right, I am. I am incapable of behaving when I look at you. I want only to touch you, to kiss you, to make you breathless… And what I desire, I will have.” Aran’s eyes rolled back as Tristan tilted his head further and kissed him… and kissed him and kissed him until Aran thought he might actually faint. He smoothed his hand down Aran’s chest over the satin. “Perhaps you should just allow me to have my wicked way with you.” He chuckled, “I can feel your heart pounding.”

“You’ll ruin me,” he rasped.

“Oh, we’ll preserve your precious virtue, my lady. There are other ways that I can have what I want.”

“Other… ways?” Aran moaned as he was lifted from the chair and pushed over the table. 

“ _ Oui, mignon _ .” Tristan smoothed his hand over his hip, squeezing, bunching the soft blue satin of the skirt in his hand. “No one will ever know.”

“My lord- Don’t-“

“Don’t? But you are mine. You’ve been mine since you were born. Sold to my family to keep your own from ruin. By law, you are bound to belong to me. Every step you’ve taken has brought you closer to being mine. Mine.” He squeezed again, dragging the full skirts of the ballgown up. “You are mine and I will not be denied.”

Aran shivered as he felt the breeze from the window touch his thighs, his ass… and felt Tristan’s hand follow, stroking his flesh. “Someone will come-“

“Someone certainly will,” Tristan groaned. “Look at what a pretty bitch you are, lifting your tail for any cur who cares to take a look. I don’t believe your virtues are intact at all, my lady. I believe I have been terribly mislead.”

The corset squeezed around his chest as he struggled to breathe, bent. “Please,” he gasped. “I swear. You’re the first to touch me.”

"The first? I find that hard to believe. Even so, I'll go easy on you." Tristan bent over him, pressing himself against him. His lips skimmed Aran's ear, his breath hot on his skin. "Do you want me to go easy on you?"

“My lord-“ Aran licked his lips.  _ No. No. Just bloody take me _ . “I don’t know what that means.”

“No?” Tristan’s chuckle vibrated through him as he slowly kissed his way down the back of Aran's neck. He knelt behind him, pushing up the fabric of the skirt until Aran was bare, exposed before him. “You’ll learn soon enough.” His tongue was cool and slick when he flicked it over his entrance, then dragged slowly, agonisingly slowly along his cleft. “Yes,” he murmured, gently pulling his cheeks apart to get more of himself in. “Definitely not intact."

Aran pressed his forehead to the table, flexing his hands on the wood. “What are you doing to me, my lord? Why- How are you making me feel this way-“ He wanted to drive back onto that tongue, but that wasn’t the game. He tried to remember- tried to remember the first time he’d felt Tristan’s tongue. The anxiety and the pleasure and the want all coursing through him at once. 

Tristan’s tongue retreated, only to be replaced by his thumb. He circled the tight right of flesh with the pad of his finger, pressing kisses along the curve of his ass. “It’s good, isn’t it?” he whispered against his skin, pushing his thumb past his entrance. "Has no one done this to you before, my lady?” 

“Oh, Maker-“ It was an effort. An effort not to lift his hips and push back onto Tristan’s thumb. The bones of the corset pressed into his ribs. The heels made him wobble slightly as his knees weakened. “Maker- Maker save me! Maker preserve me!” He moaned as Tristan’s thumb delved further - yes, yes - peering back over his shoulder to watch Tristan. “No, my lord. No- It won’t- You say this won’t ruin my reputation?”

“No more than it is already ruined, I assure you.” He stood up, reaching past Aran's shoulder for his purse, a small one made of blue silk that matched his dress exactly. Aran could feel Tristan’s smirk on his cheek as he pulled out a travel sized bottle of lube and held it before him. “Now, why would a respectable lady have something like that with her, I wonder?” The liquid was cool on his skin when Tristan reached down to slick it over his entrance. He pushed gently, first one finger, then another, opening him up, his teeth tightening on his earlobe. “Were you secretly hoping I’d use it?"

Aran whined in the back of his throat. “How could I guess that my lord,” he panted, aching, “would think to use a- a-“ He couldn’t think. Teeth on his ear, fingers stretching into him, curving and shifting. “-hand creme to such purpose?”

“Hand creme?” Tristan let out a hoarse, breathy laugh as he pushed in another finger. “I knew you were wicked. Didn’t know you were quite as inventive.” He flicked his tongue over Aran’s earlobe, in sync with the movement of his fingers inside him, brushing that spot that made bright lights flash behind Aran’s eyelids. “I think,” he whispered, and Aran could just hear Tristan unzipping his trousers over the sound of his own moans, “that you wanted this all along. You wanted me-“ he dragged his fingers out slowly, carefully, “to bend you over this table-“ the tip of his cock pressed against his entrance, stretching him, “and fuck you until you screamed my name. Isn’t that right, my lady?” He gripped Aran’s hips hard, sinking inch by agonising inch inside him. “Have you been thinking about me, when you lay in bed at night? Have you been thinking about how it would be, to have me inside you?"

“Fuck-“ Sharp points of the corset dug into his ribs and hips as he tried to breathe, tried to arch- but they were as starlight in the black night of his want. This. This was what he loved. Tristan, smirking and self-assured, gripping his hips and pushing into him. Each time, that first sweet, stretching sensation when he delved anew was so bloody good- “Oh, fuck, that’s it, Tris-“

The sudden crack of Tristan's palm against his arse drew a startled hiss from him. "Who is that 'Tris' you keep referring to? Is he one of your lovers, one of those dogs you take into your bed to plough you when no one's looking?" He growled low, fingers sinking into Aran's hair, pulling at his strands as he thrust into him, hard. "If you even think of cheating on me after we're wed, woman," he grunted, "I swear to the Maker, I'll spank you within an inch of your life."

“Yes,” he hissed, bracing against the table. “Yes, he’s a dog. But at least a dog knows how to beg permiss-“ He frowned as lights burst and heat boiled through his veins, his nerves alight. 

Tristan's flattened palm landed on his flesh again, and again, sending him shuttling forward. "Permission? Does one ask permission to take what is his?" He pulled Aran up, claiming his lips in a hungry kiss. "You are mine," he groaned against his mouth, "you belong to me and always shall. Do you understand?"

“Not yet-“ Aran gasped; he was caught in Tristan’s arms, his flesh tight and hot from the spanking, deliciously filled and gripped- “I’m not yours yet. You’re a scoundrel and a rake and- and-“ He couldn’t think. Couldn’t bear to do other than drive himself down on that gorgeous cock until he came all over the inside of the damned ballgown. “-a rogue and a wagtail!”

“And you like that, don’t you, my lady? You like that I’m a rake. You like that I’m a scoundrel. It thrills you. I’ve seen the way you look at me, undress me with your eyes. I knew that’s what you wanted since the day I saw you at Lord Alby’s party. If I dragged you to that broom closet you kept eyeing and made you kneel before me, you would have done so gladly, wouldn’t you? Or would you have let me rip your bodice and take you right in the middle of the ballroom for everyone to see?” Tristan’s teeth closed over his bottom lip hard, making Aran groan. “You are-“ he sighed, driving deeper into him with every thrust, “-depraved, my lady. Utterly depraved. Just admit that you sent your chaperone away on purpose, so I could have my wicked way with you.” 

“Yes-“ Aran gave in, shifting to thrust his hips back hard. The corset scraped and cinched and strangled. “Yes-“ He sought and found Tristan’s ponytail, winding it around his fist and holding on for leverage as he rode. Deep. Fuck. The tea had sloshed from the cups, warm and floral scented pooling around his fingers where he braced against the table. “Yes- I wanted you- I wanted you there and then- I could barely- ah- could barely dance for wanting you-“ He kissed him eagerly, sucking Tristan’s tongue into his mouth as he took every thrust, moaning. “Fuck- fuck me, you lunatic-“

“I will,” Tristan moaned, strangled, one palm curling around Aran’s neck, the other reaching down to stroke him in time with his thrusts. “I will make you mine, one way or another. You’ll be mine, and no one else’s, to do with as I please. I will- ah-“ He buried his face in the crook of Aran’s neck, panting against his skin. “You feel so good-"

“Aye,” Aran let his head fall back to Tristan’s shoulder. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, could only feel- Sweet, blessed rutting- Maker’s tears, his  _ hands- _ his  _ cock- _ his  _ grip _ on him- “Aye- yours- yes- Tris-“

Tristan held him tightly, pressing himself against him as he shuddered. His breath was hot and ragged on his neck, muffled moans and swears vibrating through him. He thrust shallowly a few times before he stopped, shivering. “Ah, Maker,” he said in a low, hoarse whisper, and dropped his forehead to Aran’s shoulder. 

“Corset,” he wheezed, shivering as the bones pressed into his hips and speared his ribs. The release of the laces let a sudden heady rush of breath pour into his lungs, making him feel dizzy and wild as the last strokes of Tristan’s hand over him sent him gasping and seeing stars. He kissed Tristan’s cheek, breathless, his knees shaking. He kicked the heels off, catching his breath, balanced between Tristan and the table. Bare feet on warm wood, skin to skin, the skirts of the ballgown gathering the dribbling tide of tea from toppled cups. “Fuck, I love you.” He licked his lips. “My dear Lord Fauntleroy,” he breathed, shivering. “I think we’ve made a mess.”

Tristan laughed darkly, puffing hot breaths against his skin. “When do you expect your chaperone to return, my lady?”

“Will you marry me still, my lord?” Aran asked, smiling lazy. “Now that you’ve ruined me entirely?”

“You’re mine,” he murmured, kissing the back of Aran’s neck. “You’re not ruined. Once we’re married, I’ll do this every day. This and more.”

“More,” Aran moaned softly. “Maker’s breath, are there  _ more _ of these dreadful novels?”

Tristan barked a tired laugh. “You had a very good time. Don’t deny it.”

“So what did happen with Lord Fauntleroy and Lady Agatha? Did they fuck on the tea table, too?”

“There’s a whole series. You can read them yourself.”

Aran smiled, stroking the back of Tristan’s neck. “I prefer the reenactments.”

“Then you’ll have to wait to find out, won’t you?”

“Mmhmm,” he nuzzled Tristan’s ear. “I suppose I will.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Come find us on Tumblr: [oftachancer](https://oftachancer.tumblr.com/) and [JohaerysLavellan](https://johaeryslavellan.tumblr.com/) :)


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